


Fighting Heavy Shoulders

by OrdinaryVegan



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: F/F, M/M, Not even a little sorry, Post-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, andreil pda, but this is ridiculous, this also became lowkey renison, we know neil is a runner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 18:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryVegan/pseuds/OrdinaryVegan
Summary: He would stick a knife in the throat of anyone who tried to make him admit it, but Andrew was actually a little concerned about Neil running this race. From what he can tell, this can go one of two ways. Option one: Neil would be reasonable and just survive the race. Run at a sensible pace, make it across the finish line alive, and keep his mouth shut the next time some asshole reporter starts harassing him. Option two: Neil, because he is Neil, would try way too hard to keep up with the people who actually put in a lot of time training for these things. He would pull a muscle or pass out on the course, and Andrew would have to drag his ass to the nearest hospital, which would really throw a wrench in Andrew’s weekend plans of doing absolutely nothing. Not even to mention the absolute hissy fit Kevin would throw if Neil were injured. If Andrew were a betting man, his money would go to option two.---Wymack follows through on his threats, and Andrew is a protective asshole in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt by anon: andreil pda around the foxes pleaseee my soul needs it

He did it. He actually did it. After months of constant warnings and threats, Wymack finally followed through. 

Neil can do nothing but stare at the flyer in his hand, mildly in fear and majorly in shock. A mere thirty seconds prior, Wymack had stormed out of his office brandishing this piece of paper like both a white flag and a declaration of war. He had paused just inside the lounge, making sure to gather everyone’s attention, before striding over to Neil and shoving the flyer in his face. 

“This is for last weekend,” Wymack had said. “I already—don’t give me that look, you know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about. I already signed you up. It starts at 8:00 AM on Saturday, and unless you want your ass glued to the bench for the rest of the season, I suggest you be there.” He had then turned back around and disappeared into the hallway, leaving a room full of confused and curious Foxes in his wake.

A full minute passes before chaos breaks out and everyone starts moving at once. Various forms of “What the hell?” can be heard from all corners of the room. Neil blinks as the flyer is yanked out of his hand. He looks up to see Andrew, his eyes scanning the paper. Andrew looks up at him, and Neil’s heart nearly explodes because this look on his face, it looks like the honest-to-god beginnings of a smile. And sure, it’s at Neil’s expense, but he would embarrass the fuck out of himself at every turn if this was his reward. Andrew moves to hand the paper back to Neil.

“Okay, seriously,” Kevin huffs out with impatience as he pushes through his teammates. He snags the flyer away from Andrew who couldn’t be bothered to stop him. Kevin reads aloud, “ _The Annual Hilton Head Island Marathon_...a MARATHON? Really, Neil?! Is this a joke?”

“I don’t know, Kevin,” says Andrew, his voice taking on the persona of a kindergarten teacher. “Did it look like a joke to you?” 

Kevin’s only response is to scowl and shove the flyer into Neil’s chest. “This better not affect your performance at our game on Friday. You don’t get to take it easy just because you have to run 26.2 miles the next day.”

By the time Kevin has stormed out of the building, the rest of the Foxes have commenced their team wide freak out. 

“Seriously?! He actually came through on that threat?” Dan is caught halfway between being genuinely worried and dying of laughter.

“Neil...bro…what the fuck...” Matt says from somewhere on his left, placing a consoling hand lightly on his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, Neil. We have to be there. I have to witness this historic moment. You finally get to put your insane running habits into practice,” Allison is rambling from across the room. 

“Wait, what was Wymack talking about ‘last weekend’? What did you do?” Asks Nicky, unaccustomed to being out of the loop.

Neil looks away, but Andrew speaks for him. “That would be because Neil called a reporter a ‘fascist chipmunk fucker’ when he tried to follow him after his interview.”

“Andrew!” Neil says indignantly, betrayal coloring his voice. “He almost followed me into the locker room! He wouldn’t shut up about how it’s my ‘responsibility’ to give the fans information about my personal life. I wanted to punch him, but I chose the more civil route instead.”

Allison lets out a literal cackle and says, “Civil? ‘Fascist chipmunk fucker’, holy shit, Neil. I am so proud of you right now.”

Neil leans back against his locker and brings his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. He feels Andrew move closer to him, a soothing presence that Neil will always be grateful for, even if some of this is his fault. He notices Allison’s eyes zero in on the movement, but she says nothing. The conversations continue around them, but Neil does his best to ignore it and just wait until they get tired of the topic.

“But wait. Neil,” Nicky says, pulling him back into the focus he had just successfully escaped. “Can you really run 26 miles?” 

“Uhh,” Neil starts, his right hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, a nervous gesture he doesn’t have to hide anymore. “I actually don’t know? I usually stop after 15 or so. I mean, I can _probably_ do it…” he trails off, looking around the room at his teammates.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Aaron tosses callously over his shoulder as he exits the room, well aware of the fact that everyone knows he doesn’t give even a single, microscopic fuck about any of it.

“I’m sure you’ll do great, Neil,” pipes in Renee, a soft smile lighting up her expression. “And of course we’ll be there to support you.”

“Yeah, we’ll all go,” says Matt. “Team solidarity and all that, right?” He holds up a hand to Dan, who enthusiastically returns his high-five.

“Hell yeah we will! We’ll be there no matter what. Whether it’s to meet you at the finish line or drag you off the course halfway through.” She winks at Neil, and he offers her a laugh and a small smile.

“I appreciate it, but you guys really don’t all need to go. I’ll be fine,” Neil insists, glancing at Andrew.

“Oh _please_ ,” Allison says. “Just fucking accept it, Neil. We aren’t going to let you go by yourself, even if the Monster goes, too.”

Neil opens his mouth to tell her to quit with the “Monster” bullshit, like he’s done hundreds of times, but he is cut off by Andrew tugging on his shirt. Neil looks to him, and it’s clear that he wants to leave. Neil can’t blame him, though. This has been a little too much interaction and attention for him, as well.

So instead of tearing into Allison, Neil releases a defeated sigh and says, “Fine, okay. Whatever, let’s just get out of here.” He pushes himself away from the locker, while the others start up the chattering once again. He reaches down for the strap of his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder. Andrew does the same, and when he looks up, Neil offers a cautious hand. He was aiming for subtlety and landed somewhere near forced nonchalance. Andrew blinks at him once. Twice. Then reaches for his hand, links their fingers together, and leads the way across the room and out the door. They’ve been attempting these small, easy touches for a while now, but it is still a rare thing for one to be offered and accepted in public.

Neil lets Andrew tug him along, and he doesn’t realize until the door has closed behind him that the room has grown uncharacteristically quiet.

\---

Andrew frowns at Nicky when he shows up at the course with a giant, hand-made poster that reads in orange, glittery letters, “Josten: Your Ass Looks Great”. He comes to stand by Andrew, and Andrew punches him in the arm. Nicky retreats to the other side of their group, choosing to gush over his artistic skills to an ever-amiable Renee instead.

He would stick a knife in the throat of anyone who tried to make him admit it, but Andrew was actually a little concerned about Neil running this race. From what he can tell, this can go one of two ways. Option one: Neil would be reasonable and just survive the race. Run at a sensible pace, make it across the finish line alive, and keep his mouth shut the next time some asshole reporter starts harassing him. Option two: Neil, because he is Neil, would try way too hard to keep up with the people who actually put in a lot of time training for these things. He would pull a muscle or pass out on the course, and Andrew would have to drag his ass to the nearest hospital, which would really throw a wrench in Andrew’s weekend plans of doing absolutely nothing. Not even to mention the absolute hissy fit Kevin would throw if Neil were injured. If Andrew were a betting man, his money would go to option two. 

Speaking of bets, Allison already has $200 on Neil finishing in the top ten. Dan and Nicky each have $100 on the top twenty, and Matt decided not to bet because saying anything other than first place felt like a betrayal. Kevin stood to the side, scowling at them as they shook hands to finalize their deal. 

The race has been on for almost four hours now, and two runners have already crossed the finish line and claimed their trophies. Why anyone would train for these stupid marathons for months at a time just to win a useless piece of plastic, Andrew could not possibly fathom. The irony that he is a college athlete doing essentially the same thing is not lost on him, he simply chooses to ignore it.

Renee is sitting on the bench beside Andrew, quietly observing the other spectators and clearly trying not to stare at Allison too much. Andrew stifles an eye roll, but only because Renee is his best friend. He is tempted to tell her to stop pining and do something about it. But then again, Andrew is the one who nearly pushed his crush off a rooftop, so maybe he shouldn’t be offering relationship advice. 

Just as he comes to this conclusion, Renee gently nudges him with her shoulder. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she says, “There he is,” with her quiet form of excitement, nodding toward the course. He looks up to see Neil, maybe a quarter of a mile away, coming over the final hill in a crowd of ten or so other runners. Looks like Allison might lose her first bet. The thought gives Andrew a small sense of satisfaction.

But who is he kidding, really. Of course Neil Josten would not finish last, even in a group of the top runners in South Carolina. Neil pushes through the other contestants as they all fight to the finish line, coming in eighth place overall. He looks awful, completely sweaty and semi-covered in mud. When he thinks about it, Andrew decides that could be a potential turn on if Neil didn’t also look like he could collapse at any moment.

Andrew stands with a sigh and grabs the bottle of water on the table behind him. He watches as Neil finds one of the wooden posts that mark the running path and leans against it, one hand on the post, the other braced on his knee. Andrew estimates that he has about thirty seconds to get there before Neil hits the ground.

He arrives just in time to grab Neil’s arm as he starts to slip, pushing him back up and securing him against the post. Neil looks up in alarm at first, not having noticed Andrew’s approach. But he quickly relaxes into Andrew’s grip, his head falling forward and landing on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew can hear the other Foxes coming up behind them but decides to let Neil be. He raises his free hand and secures it in Neil’s hair, ignoring just how sweaty it is.

“Fuck,” Neil breathes out, chest still heaving, his entire body shaking with small tremors. 

“Have you finally learned to shut the fuck up?” Andrew asks, though he already knows the answer.

Neil painstakingly lifts his head from Andrew’s shoulder, just to look him in the eye when he gives him a winning grin and says, “Not a chance.”

Andrew lets out a huff of breath and feels the corner of mouth twitch upward without his permission. He sees the way Neil lights up, his smile overtaking his face like he didn’t just run 26 goddamn miles the day after a game. He wants to punch him, but he also wants to kiss him. At least this idiot didn’t kill himself in the name of a sport that isn’t even Exy. Andrew would have only Wymack to hold responsible, and he actually has a soft spot for their grouchy old coach. 

He focuses back on Neil, who is staring at Andrew with the smile still stuck in place. Andrew can hear the others behind them discussing who owes who how much, and he knows they’ll be over here harassing Neil any second. Neil’s breathing is still unsteady, but he’s looking at Andrew like he is the center of his world. And Andrew can’t have that.

He leans in closer to Neil, placing a cautious hand at his side, the other still fixed in his mess of curls. He hesitates an inch from Neil’s lips, thinking about the strangers surrounding them and the Foxes behind them, the latter of whom are surely watching every move the pair makes. But Andrew decided a long time ago that the opinions of other people were not his problem.

“Yes,” Neil says, before Andrew can even ask. Andrew closes the distance to the sound of wild cheers and applause from their idiot teammates. He also suspects there are a few camera shutters, but he really couldn’t care less with Neil’s mouth on his and hands in his hair. 

Neil pulls away first, most likely because breathing is still somewhat of an issue for him. Andrew pushes him back against the post with a hand on the center of his chest. Neil laughs and wraps his hand lightly around Andrew’s wrist.

“Congratulations, Neil! You didn’t die!” Nicky’s voice rings out, getting closer with each word. Andrew moves to Neil’s side so he can escape the coming onslaught, but Neil holds onto his wrist, stopping him from getting too far away. It’s not forced, more like a suggestion, an _I’d rather you didn’t_. Andrew obliges.

The Foxes are harassing Neil just as Andrew predicted, so he stands quietly at his side and allows his family to shower Neil with affection until he’s drowning in it. Neil’s hand on his wrist moves to slot his fingers between Andrew’s, and Andrew ignores Allison’s gaze as he always has to when he touches Neil in public. This time instead of going back to the conversation and bragging about her betting skills, Allison moves to stand in front of Andrew. She narrows her eyes as she takes him in. 

Neil sends a glance their way but is distracted by Matt ruffling his hair. Andrew raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Allison, waiting for her say or do something other than stare at him. The last time they were this close to one another, Andrew had his hands around her neck.

“You better not just be leading him on, Monster,” she says, so low that no one else has a chance of hearing. “I might not be able to fight you myself, but I hear good money can take care of that for me. Assassins don’t come cheap, but that won’t be a problem.” 

Andrew takes a moment to appreciate both her gumption and her protectiveness over Neil. “I could say the same about you,” he says calmly. Her brow furrows for a second before her eyes widen and her jaw drops slightly. He continues to stare at her, gaze unwavering and conveying his conviction just as he hoped it would. She closes her mouth, swallows, and nods. Andrew nods back.

The group slowly begins to make their way toward the parking lot, Neil and Andrew trailing at the back.

“What was that about?” Neil asks, nodding ahead to the group. 

Andrew shrugs. “An understanding.”

Neil is clearly still confused, but he doesn’t bring it up again. He’ll probably ask Allison later, but Andrew doesn’t really care. His hand is still laced with Neil’s, and Neil is somehow walking away from this damn marathon in one piece, and that’s all that matters. Andrew drags him along to the Maserati, pushing him inside and watching him struggle with the seatbelt for all of ten seconds before leaning in to do it himself. 

If the Foxes see the way he kisses the top of Neil’s head before he pulls away and shuts the door, Andrew decides it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> hello my loves! as always, thank you thank you for taking a few of your precious minutes on Earth to read my words! i appreciate you all, and i hope you enjoyed it <3
> 
> title from "Heavy Shoulders" by Trace. and the super wonderfully elegant "fascist chipmunk fucker" line is from my favorite slam poet Neil Hilborn's poem "Audiobook". give it a listen, he's incredible.
> 
> come scream with me on tumblr @theordinaryvegan


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